


store cupboard

by falloutmars



Series: investigating the murders (investigating each other) [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Investigative Duo, jughead appreciates betty's lock picking skills, store cupboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmars/pseuds/falloutmars
Summary: “You know, for where all these investigations have led us, we’ve never once ended up trapped in a store cupboard together.”Betty looks up at Jughead as best as she can with their close proximity and the lowlight of said cupboard. She sends him a tongue-between-teeth grin, one she knows he can rarely resist, and says, “It’s because we used to be good at our jobs.”–or, mid-investigation + stuck in a store cupboard
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: investigating the murders (investigating each other) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185563
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	store cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil investigative bughead fluff to brighten your day~

“You know, for where all these investigations have led us, we’ve never once ended up trapped in a store cupboard together.”

Betty looks up at Jughead as best as she can with their close proximity and the lowlight of said cupboard. She sends him a tongue-between-teeth grin, one she knows he can rarely resist, and says, “It’s because we used to be good at our jobs.”

He splutters. Whether that be at her words or her grin, she doesn’t care; it’s a win either way. 

“Used to be?” He feigns hurt, his hand dramatically flying to his chest as if she’d physically pained him. “We still are, thank you very much.”

“Sure,” she says with an amused scoff. “If we were, we wouldn’t be stuck in a store cupboard.”

Shaking his head, he tuts at her, briefly tapping her nose. “A store cupboard at a very fancy dinner party, I’ll have you know.”

“A store cupboard at a very fancy dinner party we _weren’t_ invited to,” she corrects, though she’s unable to keep a smile off of her face. 

At that, he slumps his shoulders, leaning back against the wall. Next to him is a mop that smells kind of bad, so he edges away from it, poking his tongue out at Betty in the process. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, knees tucked against his chest. Staring up at her, he wordlessly gestures for her to do the same.

“Really?” she asks with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, half expecting him to be joking. The cupboard, after all, is very small.

He nods. “We’re locked in until they realize we’re here, right? So might as well… get comfortable.” There’s a hint of humor in his voice this time, so she mirrors his actions until her knees are touching his. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but strangely intimate, so she can’t mind too much.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sound around them their shallow breaths and distant party noise. Betty tries listening out for any sign of fancy high heels or dress shoes walking past but to no avail. 

She sighs loudly, and Jughead shoots her a look. 

“What?” 

He shrugs, then smiles. “You’re being noisy.”

“Don’t we want them to find us?”

He runs a hand through his hair, once, and twice when that same strand falls over his eye again, purposely delaying answering the question. “No,” he says eventually when her wide eyes boring into him become too much. “Of course not; we’ll get murdered. C’mon, Betts, you’re better than this.”

“Better?!” She gasps and rolls her eyes. “ _Someone_ , Mr. Jones, has been distracting me ever since we left home.”

He grins innocently. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Exasperated, she rolls her eyes again. “Two can play that game, you know?” In retaliation, she _accidentally_ lets her hand fall onto his knee, rubbing small circles that just happen to slide up and up his thigh. “Whoops.”

His breath hitches, but he refuses to be this affected by her. With a deep breath, he covers her hand with his own and pulls it towards him. He takes it in both hands, gently massaging the skin. Eyes focused on the shadowed outline of their hands, he can only gauge her reaction from the way her breathing gets ever so slightly heavier and her other hand comes up to grip his arm. 

Calling that a win, he draws her hand closer and up to his lips. He presses a series of featherlight kisses along her fingers, to the back of her hand, and he’s just about to flip it over to start on her palm when she yanks it back.

With somewhat of a whine, he stares over at her, a small pout on his face—though if anyone asked, he’d hastily shoot them down. “Betty…”

She tuts at him in the same manner he did a few minutes previous, unable to keep a smirk off of her face. She buries her hands between her thighs, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You’re evil, Betty Cooper.”

“Yep,” she grins, popping the ‘p’. “I did tell you two can play that game.”

His pout gets bigger. “But you’re _not_ playing the game; you’re just denying me.”

She nods proudly. “Well, we’re in this fucking store cupboard because of you.”

Throwing his head against the wall, he groans, then even louder when he causes the mop to topple over and bump him on the head. He grabs the handle and shoves it towards Betty like the sulking child he is.

She just chuckles, carefully taking it from him and propping it up against the wall beside him again. “I thought you were meant to be my fiancé, not my teenage son.”

One word makes him grin unabashedly. “I can be both,” he says with waggly eyebrows before his eyes go wide and he stops. “Nevermind. I’ll stick with fiancé.”

“Good.” She goes to grab his hand, but she pulls back just as his fingers twitch in wait for hers, grinning. “It’s still your fault we’re here, though.”

He folds his arms as best he can, but they end up resting on top of his knees. “How?”

_They’d been planning on going after Mr. Moss for three days now. It wasn’t as simple as just being able to turn up at his office and question him, not when he was their biggest suspect for four murders in the past month alone. Being careful has never been their strong suit, but this time, they knew they had no choice._

_The planned dinner party—a tip-off from one of their lovely contacts within the company—meant the west wing of the house would be occupied, leaving the east wing—where his office is—completely free and, according to their contact, completely out of bounds to the point of three locked doors between the dining room and the office._

_Of course, locked doors have never been a problem for Betty and Jughead, not with experience such as theirs. They worked out that, if timed correctly, they could sneak in through the side door to the kitchen in so-called smart clothing, easily able to wander the corridors with no questions asked. Once the party of ridiculously rich clients had consumed enough alcohol, they’d be able to pick their way through the three locked doors and into his office._

_Plus, if they_ did _get caught, their completely logical thinking led them to question if he’d murder them in front of his best clients. Hopefully not. Really hopefully. Then they could run._

_But obviously, with such a sound plan, they weren’t going to get caught. They were going to make it into his office, sift through his top-secret contracts and find the missing key to nail him as the murderer. Documents, diaries, anything they could possibly need would all be in there._

_And they didn’t get caught, at least not at first._

_It was all going to plan. They managed to sneak into the kitchen, then ‘busied’ themselves in various food cupboards and a couple of walk-in refrigerators—thankfully_ that _wasn’t where they got stuck—to not catch the attention of the real workers._

_Jughead, apparently seemingly unwilling to keep his hands off of her since they got engaged, decided a great use of their hiding time would be to push her up against the wall of the huge pantry, lips pressed roughly against hers. She wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t in the middle of a very important investigation, and even then, she didn’t_ fully _mind._

_But as soon as 9:30 pm hit, they made their way through the first locked door._

_As always, Jughead kept look whilst Betty effortlessly picked the lock, and soon enough, they were speeding through the marble-surround corridors to the second door. That, too, went without trouble, and all that stood between them and the potentially the biggest breakthrough of their careers yet was one measly lock._

_That was until Jughead_ forgot _to keep watch, deciding instead to gape at his fiancé whilst she was trying to pick the lock to Mr. Moss’s office._

_“You’re so fucking hot,” he practically growled in her ear, breath hot against her skin._

_“Jughead!” she scolded in a hushed whisper, trying not to let his distractions get the better of her. “You’re meant to be—”_

_Distant footsteps interrupted her, catching her attention, and she carefully removed the picking device from the door, turning around to a seemingly unaware Jughead Jones._

_“Why aren’t you keeping watch?”_

_He smirked. “I’m watching_ you _, Betty. Much better.”_

_With a roll of her eyes, she pocketed the device and grabbed his hand, dragging him just around the corner from the office. “Jughead! People! Footsteps! Danger!”_

_He peeked around the corner, only to be met with a very angry-looking Mr. Moss storming right in their direction. “Fuck,” he muttered, darting out of view._

_Along from them, he noticed a door, quickly pulling her towards it. He practically pushed them inside, keeping the door slightly ajar with his foot as he watched Mr. Moss and what looked like two security guards stride past the end of the corridor and in the opposite direction to the office. As they did so, he heard them mutter about a missing plate of fish. Not a security breach, thankfully. Somehow._

_With a sigh of relief that turned into a chuckle, he stepped towards Betty, deciding that their new environment might as well be used for a_ quick _kiss before they tried the office again._

_But in doing so… he moved his foot from keeping the door open. It clicked shut, and he gasped. A rattle of the door handle confirmed that they were, in fact, locked in._

_He turned to his fiancé, a shy grin on his face. “Uh, Betts… We might be locked in.”_

“So!” She playfully pokes him in the cheek. “Your fault, Mister. You shouldn’t have been distracting me.”

Deflated, he sighs. “I’m sorry, Betty.” No point in trying to argue with her; she’s typically always right. 

“There are better times to appreciate my lock-picking skills, you know?”

He nods sadly, bottom lip poking out at her. 

Giggling, she hauls herself up, using his knees as leverage. She pulls the pick from her pocket, leaning over him to force it into the door’s lock, and grins. “Like now.”

He jumps up, immediately wrapping her arms around her waist from behind. He presses a series of kisses to her neck, muttering, “My savior.”

She continues her work despite his rather welcome distraction.

_~fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to know what you think!! kudos and comments make my day <3


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